


Fade to black

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in a Car, yutoyama porning in a sports car that's it that's the whole plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 03:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: Yuto and Yamada get it on Yamada's black Porsche.





	Fade to black

**Author's Note:**

> There was a rumor once that Yamada owned a Black Porsche, which I found hot as hell. Then I spent a year and a half trying to write porn about said car. I am as disappointed as you are about this. At least there was a try?

Yuto shouldn’t be allowed to drive sports cars. Least of all black ones. His shit eating grin grates on Yamada’s irritation as the tinted window slowly but steadily reveals Yuto looking at him behind a pair of stupid aviator mirrors. Yamada huffs, but his indignation only manages to turn Yuto’s smirk into a full blown cocky smile.

“Ride with me, Yama-chan,” Yuto drawls in what he clearly thinks is a seductive voice, but sounds like a mangled jumble of words.

Nevertheless, Yamada can’t help but chuckle at the desecration of their song’s lyrics.

“Remind me why I’m letting you drive _my_ car?” he asks, when he finally hops on the passenger seat and he is busy fastening his seatbelt, pointedly not looking at Yuto.

The smell of new leather and stale nicotine that teases Yamada’s nostrils feels like a kiss hello. Quintessentially Yuto.

“Because you hate driving,” Yuto answers, even though he must know it’s a rhetorical question. 

He’s wrong, though. Yamada doesn’t hate driving. He does, however, hate parking. With a passion. He’d rather risk taking the train home most of the time just because of that. But it’s January, and it’s freezing. And Yuto offered. 

It’s also a nice way to entertain himself during the trip to Yuto’s place; looking at Yuto’s nimble hands as he changes gears, or drums his fingers on the shift knob or the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead and looking at Yamada sideways. That Yuto acts like a hotshot drag racer out of some American movie every time he drives Yamada’s Porsche is a minor drawback. 

Or maybe not. 

The leather jacket is too damn nice.

Bruno Mars’ last album blasting from the car stereo —with too much bass. Again—, that’s not so nice.

“I think I liked better your Michael Jackson obsession,” Yamada says, cringing at the slow R&B-ish ballad currently playing.

“ _Since you ain't thinking of me, oh, look what you making me do_...” Yuto coos the song’s lyrics, in sync with the high pitched voice from the stereo, as he brakes at a red light. He winks at Yamada over his sunglasses when the car stops.

Yamada snorts. And snaps away Yuto’s aviators in a quick move that the younger boy is unable to block in time.

“Ouch!” Yuto half-heartedly protests, rubbing the bridge of his nose. But he is trying hard not to laugh, and Yamada can tell he is.

“News flash,” Yamada sneers. “The sun’s already set.”

Yuto’s retaliation is to poke Yamada’s nose.

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, and then pokes at Yamada’s right cheek.

Yamada makes a contempted face. “And you are an idiot.”

He doesn’t mean it. Not this time. Yuto shows that he gets it by cupping Yamada’s cheek with his previously poking hand.

“Well...” Yuto lets out a sigh, a bit dramatic, and a lot cocky. “You chose me.”

Yamada rakes his brain for a witty retort, something like he has to reconsider his taste in boyfriends. Then he short-circuits. Yuto’s thumb is slowly dragging over his bottom lip, and even if the action doesn’t physically stop Yamada from talking, the inferno of Yuto’s gaze, fixed on his mouth, turns Yamada’s mood from playful into something different. Blood falters in his veins before zimmering its way down, down...

He doesn’t usually reacts so much with so little, but, being realistic, if he didn’t like it _a lot_ when Yuto gets all smug and cheeky they wouldn’t be in a relationship to begin with.

Yamada parts his lips enough to give a quick lick to the tip of Yuto’s thumb, as the reflection of the traffic lights over Yuto’s skin changes from red to green. It’s intended as a mockery, and maybe as something a bit gross, but Yuto doesn’t laugh or appears disgusted. If anything, his jaw sets more firmly, and his eyes widen so subtly that Yamada almost believes he imagined it.

Yuto turns to face the road ahead with a brisk motion, pressing the gas pedal with an unusual amount of intensity. None of it triggers any warnings, though. It’s his sudden silence what makes Yamada wonder.

Yamada can swear he isn’t trying to be a tease. It’s well natured curiosity. Really. He wants to check if Yuto’s mood means what he thinks it does. Nothing more.

He darts his hand over the gearstick to rest on Yuto’s knee, and draws it upward, tracing Yuto’s inner thigh until his fingers gingerly reach its apex. He’s met with heat, and a cautionary grunt. 

“ _Yam..._ ” Low, so raspy. The right amount of tension in it to make Yamada not want to listen. So he doesn’t.

Yuto isn’t hard, but he’s getting there. Fast. His grip on the steering wheel becomes vicious as Yamada gropes his awakening erection through the wool of Yuto’s designer pants.

“Do you plan to keep doing that?” Yuto sounds a bit strained and his profile is carved in stone when Yamada braves a side-look at him. Yamada’s hand doesn’t leave Yuto’s crotch though.

“Do you want me to?” Yamada forces out in a whisper. His heart is pounding.

Although the restrained pleasure in Yuto’s eyes has Yamada almost straining against the black denim of his jeans, it’s not Yuto’s stoic stance what’s turning Yamada on. It’s everything Yuto is trying to cover up with it. It’s the warmth of Yuto’s hardness, clear and present beneath Yamada’s touch, and the way Yuto’s knuckles turn wither, and wither, with every tantalizing caress of Yamada’s slow moving hands.

After three blocks of almost completely deserted streets, Yamada dares to lower the zip of Yuto’s pants to palm him through the cotton of his boxers. They are still at least twenty minutes away from their destiny by the shortest route, and Yamada knows it. After months of dating he knows every possible way by heart. He should know better.

Inertia pushes Yamada back into the seat when Yuto weighs down heavily on the gas pedal after a stop. Then Yuto takes a left, so sharp that even the perfectly aligned wheels of the Porsche squeal in protest.

Yamada’s hand glides down Yuto’s leg after yet another careless turn, to the right this time, and his fingers instinctively dig into Yuto’s thigh looking for purchase. It isn’t a gentle touch. He doesn’t ease on the pressure when he realizes this, though. Instead, Yamada lets his hand wander again, kneading Yuto’s muscles on its way up. He reaches his goal before they stop at the following traffic light. 

Yuto grumbles a swear word, a throaty sound that rips apart Yamada from within. The following wave of desire is so intense that only Yamada’s intrinsic self-consciousness keeps him from touching himself.

“Stop,” Yuto growls next, and Yamada doesn’t want to. He wants to keep hearing that edge in Yuto’s voice for the rest of his life.

Yuto pries his offending hand away, however, without even looking at him. He’s breathing hard, both of them are.

Maybe Yamada’s gone too far this time —and he knows it doesn’t take a lot of effort to make Yuto mad; especially for him. So he stares away from Yuto’s scowl and through the slightly fogged window, at the unfamiliar street, trying to calm down.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The “Closed” sign of a bar he’s never seen before passes by, its bright neon leaving afterimages on Yamada’s retina in its wake. A string of unfamiliar residential fronts follow, their colors diminished by the darkness of the winter night. Then, Yuto takes another random left into a narrow street Yamada doesn’t know.

It takes a while, but it sinks in. He knows _every_ possible way to Yuto’s apartment.

“Where are we going?” Yamada asks, but Yuto doesn’t answer. Yamada doesn’t have time to ask again before Yuto is parking in an almost empty coin parking lot.

Things get kind of blurry from then on.

Somehow Yuto manages to undo both of their seatbelts in less than two seconds, then Yamada is half being hauled and half crawling over to the driver’s side. Yuto slides his own seat backwards, so Yamada’s butt won’t accidentally honk the horn as he straddles him. He fumbles with the recliner lever, eventually working it to lean back enough for a bit of comfort. Then he pulls Yamada down to him, and kisses him. It’s harsh, sloppy, his tongue breaking possessively into Yamada’s mouth as his arms circle Yamada’s shoulders.

Yamada rocks his hips, but the friction he can get isn’t satisfactory. Even less when Yuto threads long, strong fingers through Yamada’s hair and pulls hard enough to tilt his head backwards. Yamada could sob with want when Yuto kisses down his exposed throat; all teeth and no restraint, like he never does. Maybe he’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a whole damn week but gods, this is worth it. So worth it. 

“Hotel?” Yuto offers, his lips separating from Yamada’s skin barely enough for the sound to flow through.

“Too risky,” Yamada rasps out. He bites his own tongue and keeps from pointing out that Yuto has too many a scandal on him as it is. 

“And this isn’t?” Yuto whines. He isn’t even trying to be sarcastic. He sounds as hungry as Yamada feels.

It’s a solid point. A potential arrest for indecent exposure is way worse than some blurry pictures of what could or couldn’t be them entering any moderately respectable hotel by separate ways, at different times. No proof of connection.

“Tinted windows,” Yamada drags out, nonetheless.

He should be the voice of reason, as he often has to, with Yuto. Still… going anywhere would require time, logistics, and Yamada moving away from Yuto’s maddening warmth and the slow but steady rhythm he has going between his legs.

He grabs the lapels of Yuto’s leather jacket and kisses him instead.

He doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, Yamada gets Yuto’s pants open and his underwear off the way enough to wrap his hand around him. The choked moan he gets in response has Yamada grating his teeth for control.

He wants worship Yuto on his knees until they hurt, and his jaw hurts, and everything inside and outside aches. He wants everything. He’s more turned on than he’s ever been in his whole life.

Who knew he had a secret car kink.

He tries to wiggle down a bit, to maneuver and somehow slip down between Yuto’s legs and onto the car’s floor; but space is scarce and time is ticking. And Yuto is not cooperating.

“I want to suck you,” Yamada whispers in fierce demand, his lips tracing messy patterns on Yuto’s neck. “I want to suck you and then ride you, and I can’t wait.”

Frustration makes Yamada growl when Yuto halts him and chuckles low, so low and self-satisfied, directly into Yamada’s ear. And damn, he’s never, _ever_ lending him the Porsche again.

“Won’t last for both,” Yuto huffs, strained, tight, and somehow not in the slightest abashed by this confession. “You’ll have to choose.” 

Yamada actually considers it. He imagines himself kneeling, the uncomfortably tight space binding him, making it difficult to move, making it impossible to concentrate on anything that’s not Yuto swelling in his mouth. Yuto’s fingers tangled in Yamada’s hair while he thrust into his mouth, claiming it without mercy. Yamada’s cock twitching, unattended, eager... It’s so tempting.

In the end, the throbbing emptiness inside Yamada takes the decision away from him. It doesn’t matter that they can be at Yuto’s apartment in more or less twenty minutes. He needs him. Now.

Undressing enough to suffice still requires some dexterity, but Yamada’s idol training helps a lot. He ends up taking one leg off his jeans and his boxers, any insecurity he might have felt smoldered out by Yuto’s eyes.

It’s scorching where there are no barriers between them. Yamada sighs, euphoria driving all air out of his lungs, even if the skin-on-skin contact isn’t complete. 

And then, Yuto whispers, against Yamada’s lips, “I don’t suppose you’re carrying lube and condoms?”

Yamada doesn’t even mind the full blown whine he lets out.

“It was your turn this time!”

“And I have them!” Yuto claims, any defensiveness his words might have carried superseded by his inability to stop pressing up his hips into Yamada’s. “At my place. Where we were _supposed_ to be doing this!”

Yamada grunts, his eyes closing without his permission when he meets Yuto’s undulating movements with his own, like he can’t help it. Because he can’t.

“We could… like this,” Yuto offers, taking both their lengths in his hand and tugging.

Yamada moans helplessly, the friction making his whole body buzz. But it’s not enough. Not nearly. Not now.

“I need you inside me," Yamada hears himself whimper, his beseeching voice quivering, almost broken under the weight of his want. “I can take it.”

Yuto groans, because Yamada’s grinding down viciously, but there’s a hint of concern obscuring his features. It’d be touching under different circumstances. Right now, it just makes Yamada feel like imploding from sheer exasperation.

“Please, Yuto. Please…”

He knows what begging does to Yuto. He has _seen_ it. The egomaniacal bastard. And now he’s stroking Yuto’s pride directly, without even an ounce of sarcasm to hide behind. He must be crazy.

Oh, but he is. Crazy. Lost in the heat, and lust.

He can almost see Yuto’s control teetering on the edge, feel it in his bones. Yuto’s a whisk away from falling into the abyss that’s devouring Yamada himself. And he wants him to, wants it so much.

Yamada takes Yuto’s wrist in the firmest grip he can manage, guides his unresisting hand until it’s level with Yamada’s lips. His eyes are fixed on Yuto’s when he sucks two of Yuto’s fingers into his mouth, are still glued to Yuto’s face as he plays with them, his tongue swirling around and coating them with saliva.

He barely blinks as Yuto shivers in surrender, mumbles unintelligible words, and pries his hand away from Yamada’s warmth. Yuto’s eyes could melt glaciers.

Victory tastes like Yuto’s skin.

Yuto opens him up with haste, and Yamada loses no time to position himself above him once Yuto slides his fingers out.

“Ready?” Yamada thinks he asks.

Yuto’s answer is a feral kiss. A means to try and muffle his growl when Yamada takes Yuto’s cock, and guides him to his opening. Yamada sits down, and Yuto pushes in, entering Yamada as carefully as he can.

The raw burn isn't new at all, even if Yamada's known better for years. Yuto is trying to help, to cling to control, to go slow; but Yamada doesn't want it. He knows this pain, he knows its promise, the delight it heralds. He can take it.

He breathes in, tries to relax before rolling his hips experimentally. He feels Yuto's hands cupping his ass, one on each one of his buttocks, spreading him further every time Yamada sinks down. It works. They were lovers when they barely understood what the concept meant, and now again, years later, even though they used to be utterly afraid of it. Yuto knows Yamada’s body. It helps.

The pain becomes an echo, a distant ghost. Then pleasure begins to take over, and Yamada steps up his rhythm, trying to take Yuto in deeper, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. As fast as possible.

“Careful...” Yuto gasps, feverishly, and with a tiny edge that Yamada is able to catch just because he’s known this guy since before he got good at hiding things.

“Are you okay?” Yamada asks, a tinge of alarm blowing cold in the midst of his frenzy.

Yuto nods, then chokes on a sob when Yamada resumes his movements after his brief, worried pause. 

“Slow down,” Yuto pleads then, incapable to keep from pounding on Yamada at the brisk pace he dictates. Yuto’s not one to lose control easily, or at all. It all but fuels Yamada’s fire. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You won’t. It feels good.” Yamada has to bite Yuto’s shoulder through the leather of his jacket when his words beget a sharp thrust from his partner. “You feel good. So good, Yuto. So good. Please don’t stop. Please, please...”

It’s easy to beg when Yuto’s reaction is so visceral. When every phrase causes a sharp roll of Yuto’s skilled hips, gets him deeper inside. So Yamada keeps pleading. Even when his words become scrambled, and then incoherent, as Yuto drives him closer and closer to the edge.

It’s so different without the latex sheathing, with only spit and Yuto’s precum to slick him. It feels rougher, but also more intense. He can feel Yuto moving inside him by the millimeter, harsh pleasure right on the verge of pain. He hasn’t feel like this in years, not since the first times he had sex. But experience and knowledge of his own body help, and now he can enjoy it instead of powering through it blindly.

The friction on Yamada’s cock isn’t enough to get him off, but he’s so aroused that even the slight graze against Yuto’s belly has him leaking bad at his tip. The pressure inside is simply overwhelming. The adrenalyn boosts the sensation, the urgency. It’s almost too much to bear.

Yuto isn’t much better by the look of it. Eyes screwed shut, sweat glistening on his forehead, head thrown slightly back. Airy half moans and grunts spill from his gaping mouth. His lips look bruised from kissing. Debauchery becomes him, it always has.

“Close,” Yuto finally manages to articulate, barely above a whisper. His hands grab Yamada’s thighs, trying to still his grinding. “Let me pull out.”

“Don’t,” Yamada heaves. He’s so, so close he swears he’d cry if Yuto stops even for a second. So he stubbornly keeps moving.

“I can’t hold on much longer.” There’s a bit of an apology there, woven into Yuto’s high pitched whine. Yamada can relate. Just the plain desperation in Yuto’s voice has him on the verge of release, too.

“Come inside me.” Yamada hears himself saying. It’s the only solution he can think of. It’s also not a request, and Yuto promptly complies.

Yamada feels it, feels the liquid heat spilling inside as Yuto’s helpless grunt shrouds him and drags him down. He barely has the presence of mind to yank the front of Yuto’s shirt up with one hand as he uses the other one to tug at his own cock once, twice. And then comes. Hard. All over the flawless skin of Yuto’s abs. His orgasm so powerful it knocks the air out of his lungs and makes his ears ring.

He’s dizzy and disoriented for a couple of heartbeats afterward, and it takes a while before his skin stops tingling. He’s still panting when he remembers to open his eyes.

“Wow,” is all Yuto has to say when their gazes meet. He’s having trouble gaining his breath back too, but he’s positively _glowing_.

“Yeah,” Yamada replies, with eloquence, before kissing him. Slowly this time.

But he’s never, _ever_ lending Yuto the Porsche again.


End file.
